


Five Times He Loved Her, and the One Time He Told Her

by CJS_DEPPendent



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy to Tahiti, F/M, Philinda: The Slowest of Slow Burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CJS_DEPPendent/pseuds/CJS_DEPPendent
Summary: Five times Phil Coulson knew he was in love with Melinda May, and the one time he finally told her.





	Five Times He Loved Her, and the One Time He Told Her

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to Week 2 of the Philinda Summer Challenge over on Tumblr for the prompt: 'Time'.

** One **

Phil Coulson wasn’t a specialist. He wasn’t the toughest guy around, or the biggest, or the scariest, but he could hold his own. Most of the time.

When he was paired up with her, however, he knew his cause was well and truly lost. Whether he ended up on his back, on his front with an arm twisted behind him, or in a choke hold he couldn’t even _begin_ to imagine how to extricate himself from, he never stood a chance.

And it was precisely in such a position – lying on his front, back arched against the twist in his wrist, head turning, trying to find a position that would allow him so much as a gasp for air as her other arm pressed against his windpipe – that Phil Coulson first realized his feelings for Melinda May.

He loved her. It was stupid, and pathetic, and he wished it was just the crush that Garrett kept mocking him for, but he _loved_ her.

His palms sweated, not from the pain of his wrist twisting unnaturally, but from the feel of her straddling his back. His heart hammered in his chest, not from exertion, but from her voice too close to his ear, asking him if he surrendered. The blood thrummed through his ears, not from the lack of oxygen, but from the scent of her shampoo as she bent forward, twisting his wrist that bit more until he caved and tapped out.

And as they stood to greet each other before she moved on to her next partner – or victim, as the case may be – he couldn’t help the pathetic little smile that covered his features as she teased him.

He loved that mischievous glint in her eye, the playful smile on her lips, the way her ponytail swayed behind her head, and the way her eyes scanned the room for her next competitor.

He loved sparring with her, even if he always ended up beneath her in pain. He loved studying with her – late evenings in the library and all-nighters in her dorm room buzzed on caffeine and junk food and the subjects that they were both just dorky enough to love. He loved how she verbally destroyed Garret every time he aimed an inappropriate comment at her, and how she physically destroyed him when he dared think he might beat her on the mats.

He loved _her_ – and he was _so_ out of his depth.

* * *

** Two **

Eight months out of the Academy, and he hadn’t seen Melinda May once. The Operations Academy’s star cadet had been sent on assignment almost immediately, and he’d been sent to the Triskelion, to shadow Fury himself – not to brag, but he hadn’t done too badly at the Academy, either.

So when Melinda May waltzed into the hotel lobby he’d been sitting in for the better part of an hour waiting for his partner on this mission, Phil almost froze as his heart did that thing it hadn’t done in eight months.

“There you are, Charles,” she approached him, a loving smile on her face, and a summer dress hugging her waist and revealing far too much of her legs. It fit their undercover story – out of town couple, seeing the tourist sights, visiting the Golden Gate Bridge where he would propose as they waited for the moment to intercept an arms deal.

He had planned it out to perfection, except for the part where it appeared he was _not_ over her.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he replied smoothly, accepting the peck on the lips she gave him and willing himself not to break character. Charles was _supposed_ to kiss Heidi – they were together; in love. Whatever stupid feelings were making his stomach knot and his chest constrict where her hand rested on him, he would have to deal with later.

“The taxi’s waiting,” she smiled back up at him, and _damn it_ , but there was that mischievous glint again, and the playful smile, and the teasing tone as she took his hand and led him towards the doors, “we don’t want to lose it.”

He had to pull it together - _he_ couldn't loose it. They had a mission, they were undercover, and while Charles loved Heidi, Phil _should not_ love Melinda. It was a distraction, and she wouldn’t thank him for putting their mission and safety at risk because of feelings he should have gotten over a long time ago.

But he loved her as they drove to the bridge.

He loved her when he dropped to one knee and proposed to Heidi. Loved her when she enthusiastically accepted and jumped into his arms, kissing him as he tried desperately not to memorize how it felt.

He loved her as she took out three arms dealers in a summer dress and heels; as she fought off the two that had tried to ram him with a truck.

He even loved her five hours later as she scowled at him, summer dress now soaking and clinging to far more of her body than he strictly needed to see, after he’d fished her out of the bay.

Hands tightening on the steering wheel, knuckles white as he forced himself to look ahead, he tried to reason with himself; he’d get over it eventually – he had to.

* * *

** Three **

She was beautiful. Not that Melinda May was ever _not_ beautiful – she could be taking down a strike team covered in blood, sweat and mud, and she’d still be beautiful. But this was something else.

A part of him was happy she’d eloped. He was having a hard enough time just watching her greeting the few select guests she and Andrew had invited to their housewarming party, her tanned skin glowing in the late evening sun, her hair cascading down her shoulders, her smile radiant.

He was happy for her – _of course he was_. She was his best friend – they’d worked together more often than not since Sausalito, and all he wanted was for her to be happy. He’d hoped things wouldn’t work out with Andrew when she didn’t think they would – he’d said as much. But when he stuck around for weeks, he met him with a handshake and a genuine smile; when they’d been together months, he invited them to his new apartment as a couple; and when she’d told him they’d eloped, he was genuinely happy for her.

But he couldn’t quite imagine watching her walk towards Andrew at their wedding. Watching as she married someone else.

It was stupid, and pathetic, and he _hated_ that he loved her. But even all these years later, he did. It was pointless to pretend otherwise – he’d tried, it hadn’t helped.

If there was one thing Phil Coulson had accepted he couldn’t change, it was how irrevocably in love with Melinda May he was.

He shouldn’t be. He hated the way his heart tightened when she smiled at him in greeting, hated the unwanted pang of disappointment when he saw the wedding band on her finger, and hated the feeling of guilt when Andrew smiled at him, kindly and openly, oblivious to the feelings he was trying so desperately to fight.

They deserved to be happy, and he _needed_ to just stop loving her. But here they were, five years out of the Academy, and he had reconciled himself to the fact that that was never going to happen. 

* * *

** Four **

Melinda should have been a mother – he had never doubted that, and watching her care for Daisy, help her to the sofa in the common area of the playground, comfort her as the younger woman continued to sob, he was even more certain.

Lincoln was dead. They had flown back to base, Daisy’s sobs still echoing in their minds, and as everyone else moved from the control room, he’d found himself alone with Melinda.

He could tell she wanted to check on Daisy – whatever outward front Melinda projected, he _knew_ her, and he knew how much she cared for Daisy, not just as her SO, but as a part of the makeshift family they had somehow created. But she was needed to fly the Zephyr – to get them back to base, and to get Daisy back to where she needed to be to start the long healing process they had both become too familiar with.

They’d both lost people. She’d lost Andrew only days ago, and he could still feel Rosalind’s blood on his hands.

Things had become so messed up in recent months. He’d never wanted her to leave, she’d wanted more than SHIELD could offer her – than _he_ could offer her. So Andrew had been her refuge; and Rosalind had been _there_ , teasing, and flirting, and _safe_ – a breath of fresh air from the death, and pain, and _loneliness_. And for a second he’d thought that _maybe_ , _finally_ , they could _both_ be happy. Then, as he should have expected after years in this game, it all fell apart.

Now here they were again, partners – friends – helping each other navigate the familiar straights of loss, and guilt, and pain. But now Daisy had joined their ranks - had watched someone she loved give their life in the line of duty - and as he’d stood there, listening in to Lincoln’s last words – to his inadvertent declaration of love just as his coms cut out – he found his eyes on Melinda.

He wouldn’t let it end like that. Not for them. He’d left so much unsaid with Rosalind, and he knew the regret she felt about how things ended with Andrew.

He’d spent a lifetime hiding his feelings from her, first to protect himself, then their partnership, her marriage, and then, after Bahrain, Melinda herself. But none of that mattered now - their partnership had collapsed time and again, and they always survived; Andrew was gone; and Melinda had come so far from where she’d been after Bahrain.

Maybe not today. Probably not tomorrow, either. But as he watched her urge Daisy to let herself rest – all too familiar with the exhaustion of grief and loss – he promised himself that _someday_ he would tell her.

They’d both lost too much, and he’d be damned if he let himself make Lincoln’s mistake: keeping quiet until ‘ _I love you_ ’ became his last words and May was left to pick up the pieces.

He’d tell her. Before it was too late.

* * *

** Five **

She was back. The moment she gasped back into reality and fell into his arms, his heart started beating again. He’d been so scared she wouldn’t follow him, would stay lost in that world forever.

But now there she was – alive, weak but relatively unharmed – in his arms. It felt so right to hold her, to cradle her to him as he lowered her to the floor, the weeks of inactivity taking their toll on them both.

Then AIDA took Fitz, and they were attacked by the Ivanov LMDs and she could barely stand, but still wanted to put herself at risk to protect them - trusted him to bring her back if she collapsed - and he was just as pathetic as he’d ever been. Her mention of mouth to mouth would have made him blush if his blood weren’t already all thrumming through his ears, and he could barely look her in the eye.

He’d promised himself he’d tell her how he felt, and they’d grown closer in the weeks and months after Hive and Lincoln. It had felt so right, she’d smiled more, and he’d finally suggested they open that bottle – the one they’d been holding on to since before that mission to Russia. The one he had hoped they would one day open – _together_ – before Andrew, and Bahrain, and New York and Tahiti.

But now he was avoiding her, uncertain, confused. He wasn’t sure when Radcliffe had switched her. For all he knew, May – the _real_ May; _his_ May – had been gone since the ghost infection. The LMD had said her thoughts, her memories, her _desires_ were all real, but she’d been programmed to get close to him, to get the Darkhold – he couldn’t know what was real and what was programming.

And it hurt – it hurt to have been so close. But he couldn’t say anything. Not now. Not until he knew how much – if any – of it was real.

_God_ , he loved her. But he couldn’t say it. Not yet.

* * *

** Six **

It appeared it would be weeks, not days, as their seventh day in Tahiti slowly came to an end. The sun had set, the tide receded as the full moon rose in the clear night sky, and after a day of exactly what retirement should be – good books, better food, and great sex with a beautiful woman – Phil found himself relaxing back in the warm bathtub, Melinda’s back against his chest, her head leaning back on his shoulder, throat exposed to his occasional kisses as his thumb caressed her now-tanned stomach.

This was as close to perfect as life got. For seven days, they had slept in, not an alarm in sight; eaten fresh, home-cooked – by Phil – meals; relaxed side by side on the couch, the deck, and the beach; and generally just reveled in not being under imminent threat from any form of alien entity.

Yet, every so often – usually just as sleep claimed him for an afternoon nap or as he held her naked form to his late at night – Phil felt a twinge in the back of his mind. It was something akin to guilt and shame as the words he should have said echoed in his mind.

_I love you_.

She hadn’t pressed him; hadn’t mentioned it, or even alluded to it – but he had yet to say it. She’d always been the braver of the two of them, and this was no different. For years he’d known it, felt it, even hated it, but he’d _known_. Yet he’d never said it – not when they were both young, and free, and it could have changed the course of their lives; not when she needed to hear it after Bahrain; not when she’d spat it at him in justified anger.

He was still afraid.

_‘I’m just having a hard enough time, leaving you behind’_. Leaving May, his partner, would be difficult; leaving May his best friend, would be painful; but leaving _Melinda_ would be excruciating.

Yet she deserved to know. Whether it was days or weeks, his time was running out – tomorrow would mark a week, and there was no guarantee he’d even make it that far.

He couldn’t give her much – couldn’t give her the life they both gave up to join SHIELD, couldn’t restore the part of her that Katya and Bahrain destroyed, couldn’t even give her a future.

But he could give her the truth and he could give her time; however much he had left, was hers.

“Melinda?” his voice was a hoarse whisper against her ear, his eyes closed against the lump in his throat as she hummed in response. “I love you.” It was simple, and to the point – not preceded by an eloquent speech or followed by rambling apologies. It was just what it was: the truth. One he should have given her long ago.

She didn’t make a fuss of it, didn’t turn in his arms to claim him in a searing kiss, didn’t comment on how long it had taken him. A small smile gracing her lips, Melinda let her head turn towards him, her forehead coming to rest in the crook of his neck as he exhaled, the nuzzling of her forehead against his jaw all the response either of them needed.


End file.
